L4D: Our Side
by LynxbyLynx
Summary: Zombies have taken over the world, but not all are common infected. Join Hunt, the inquisitive Hunter, as he questions the meaning of life and his existance-and drags his friends through all his misadvetures with the "special" Survivors who are- IMMUNE. Summary is terrible...Story is MUCH better. *laughs*


**[I do not own Left for Dead characters. I am merely using them for my fan fiction. A lot of this will be based off the random things that happen in the game as I play it. It IS through the eyes of the special infected. My hunter is Hunt, my smoker is Sam, my tank is Ted, my Boomer is Billy and my witch is Wilma. The pairings between the characters will alternate as it goes on, as I'm not sure who will end up with who just yet. I plan on moving through a somewhat first game experience to a second game experience. P.S. I don't have a beta. I accept all mistakes.]**

"Left for Dead: Our side"

**Chapter One**

"…Hey…You ever wonder what we were before this?" a voice drawled out, barely above a growl. Hunt crouched, balanced precautious on the edge of a roof watching the streets below for any signs of survivors. He was getting pretty hungry, and when he was hungry he was cranky. He glanced at his taller companion Sam to see if he'd heard him. Sam let out a small cough, a little smoke drifting from his mouth as he tried to poke his tongue back in. Hunt tilted his hooded head and grinned, allowing sharp teeth to show. "Try to French a survivor again? You know they don't take too kindly to being provoked~" Hunt teased his friend. Sam glared at him, unimpressed.

"…not this again Hunt…sheesh…none of the _other_ hunters I know even _bother_ talking like you…All they have are the simple things…How many of those _dreaded _ survivors they got to eat today," Sam muttered under his breath, with a light cough as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lit it up. He inhaled, releasing a small ring of smoke that fanned Hunt's face. The little hunter waved his hand in front of himself, attempting to clear the air.

"ugh Sam…Don't you know those are bad for your health-," Hunt started and trailed off,"…hmm…I guess not anymore…But see…That's my point…What if when you were a survivor-"

"Let me stop you _right_ there," the tall smoker said, waving his cigarette in the air as he spoke. "Hunt…pal…you are _assuming_ we were survivors before this happened…What if we've always been this way? I mean…look down there…" He beckoned down onto the street where several common infected shuffled around. Two were banging into a wall repeatedly, while one continued to sit and stand alternatively. "See that lot?"

"…," Hunt did indeed see them. He always pitied them, incapable of speech or any special skills to set them apart from every other one.

"Those, my dear little hunter friend, are what are referred to as the Common Infected," Sam said, taking another draw of his cigarette. The faint sound of someone's sub-machine gun could be heard a few blocks away. The common infected started to race off towards it, but Sam and Hunt remained put. They knew better than to just _rush_ into a situation, one must first sit back and examine it before plotting the next best course of action to perform. "Survivors _turn_ into those…I've never seen a survivor become anything else…" He took another draw of his cigarette as they watched the scene unfold beneath them. "Hey…Isn't there one of them safe-houses in this building?" Sam inquired, rolling up his finished cigarette and popping it into his mouth to chew.

"yeah…I think so," Hunt replied, focusing on the street below with his keen eyesight. He still wasn't done with Sam just yet. "…Imagine though-"

"HUNT! Enough. I'm sick of hearing about this," Sam said irritably, peering over the edge of the building top as a small group of survivors rushed by along on the street, heading for the supposed safe-house. "…Shit…"

"What?" Hunt asked, giving Sam a sharp look.

"It's _that_ group," Sam replied and sighed at Hunt's even more confused posture. "Hunt? Where _are_ you when we have our survivor survival guide nights?" Hunt gave a slight shrug, watching in awe as the four person squad of survivors below worked with amazing accuracy, dropping common infected this way and that. He was intrigued by the one in the bright pink jacket, her ponytail swinging this way and that. But it was how the one with the strange tattoos seemed to protect her. He hated food that fought back. "That group of survivors is like the elite of survivors…I've heard tell that they are _immune_ to us…Why anyone wouldn't _want_ to be like us I don't know…"

"Maybe because being a survivor is better than being a common infected…or a tank," Hunt replied, effectively shutting Sam up for the moment. He tilted his head in thought, it would make sense as to why they resisted…Hunt imagined he wouldn't like to be chased down by a mob of hungry commons either. "…So…the survivors are changing?"

"For the worst…they're become better at living up to their name," Sam said with a bit of disgust. "Now it's only stupid error or mistake that'll drop them…They're better at hurting us…killing us…I've heard they've taken down a few tanks-"

"You're KIDDING?" Hunt exclaimed, in awe. Not that Tanks were incredibly smart, but they did go on rampages a lot of the time. They also took a lot of force and courage to take down. He gave the group a second glance over, noting an older looking one in fatigues. Then there was a black man, screaming something at them as a car alarm started to go off. "…noisy lots aren't they?"

"Yeah…," Sam said, seeming to make calculations as three of them disappeared into the building. The black guy bent down to pick up a disregarded bottle of pills and Sam made his move. His tongue flew out and wrapped swiftly around the black guy who screamed loudly as he was dragged up the building to dangle there. He couldn't get his gun out.

"Nice catch!" Hunt exclaimed cheering on his friend who made a strange noise. A few common raced over, trying to claw at his prey. That really pissed Hunt off, but the common were too stupid to have a conversation with so he couldn't explain that it was Sam's food, not theirs. They mindlessly ate, and Hunt wasn't too sure if it was _real_ hunger that motivated them or something else. Then he heard gun fire. The other survivors were coming back to rescue their friend. "Uh…Sam…Shotgun-" Sam screamed in a mix of pain and rage as his tongue was severed and his prey got free. A few random shots were fired upwards before the survivors banished back into the safe house, shooting rapidly at the incoming wave of common infected.

"DAMNIT!" Sam screamed in rage, poking fingers into his mouth and feeling around. A second tongue slid out to replace the first. "Hurts like a son of a bitch…" Hunt let out a little growl, deciding to crawl downwards and check it out. The common infected were beating on the car as if it were food. Hunt sighed, letting out a small shriek as he leapt onto the top of the car. He reached into the window, fingers fumbling for the key ring where he hit the panic button, shutting the car alarm off. The common stopped what they were doing and stood still, watching stupidly at nothing. Then they slowly wandered off. "Nice work…" Hunt glanced to his side to see Sam standing, casually leaning against the side of the car.

"You almost got him," Hunt offered encouragingly.

"Pft…It's every zombies _dream_~ to nab himself an elite," Sam said with a nod of his head," To taste that sweet tender flesh…" He let out a small noise of anticipation, tongue flipping around. "Supposedly they taste _better_ than the common survivors…those four…They're what we call _special_ survivors…They're on the same playing field as us…" Hunt tilted his head, considering it as he listened to a strange gurgling sound as if someone were trying not to throw up. He smelled that sickly sweet intoxicating aroma as their friend Billy, a boomer, waddled over to them. Green slime dripped down out of his mouth, and oozed out of a few other places on him. His massive girth was due to being full of Boomer bile. It attracted hordes of common infected, so Billy was really popular with the common. Not that he'd understand they were just attracted to his bile. Billy was a bit slow at times, and was happy to do anything for his friends. Something Sam took advantage of, but Hunt didn't feel it was right too.

"Hi-hi Sammy-wammy," Billy called out in a falsetto singing voice. His chubby hand was crushed around something in his excitement to waddle over to them as fast as he could. "I gots you something-womething…It took me a little-wittle. But I gots it-watsit…" Billy nodded his fat head, which was quite an accomplishment. He offered his fat pudgy hand to Sam who opened his to receive the desecrated box of cigarettes. Sam let out a small sigh and Hunt grinned.

"It's a sign that you should quit," Hunt teased, elbowing his friend who grunted in reply. Billy was panting though, having obviously run the entire way back to them to deliver his prize. He idolized Sam in an almost creepy way. Hunt pegged him for maybe being gay, but figured he just wanted Sam's friendship approval. Suddenly Billy was making a gagging sound before spewing all over Hunt. Hunt screeched, leaping away in shock as green gunk dripped off of him. The smell was overwhelming and Hunt was getting a little light-headed from the fumes. He waved his arms widely, trying to get the goo off of him. No such luck. Now he was going to smell like a freaking Boomer for a while.

"I'm so sorry-warry," Billy said, and glanced at Sam who was trembling slightly…from an effort not to laugh. It failed.

"Ah-ha ha ha! Did you _see_ your face HUNT?" Sam cried out, doubling over with laughter. Billy was a little confused, but smiled good-naturedly anyways. Hunt growled.

"It isn't _funny_…This _is_ gross…_beyond_ gross," Hunt snarled and it made Sam laugh harder. Billy ,in a rare moment of intelligence, paused.

"How's it gross? The others like it," Billy asked slowly, taking time to phrase each word without adding an annoying thing at the end of it. Hunt rubbed at the front of his hoodie, only serving to rub it in more.

"Uh…because _now_ I'm gonna be bugged by common for the rest of the day," Hunt replied and sure enough, a horde of zombies started to maul him. "GET OFF OF ME!" Hunt screamed as he was kicked, and clawed at relentlessly. Could they _not_ tell he was a special? Apparently not. All they smelled was Boomer bile, and that usually marked prey for them. Boomer's were known for spraying prey because it blinded them temporarily and attracted hordes of zombies. For their massive sizes, they really didn't eat too much. None of the specials did, they were selective about their kills. Only attacking what they knew they could eat. That's why Hunt believed common were extremely stupid. He leapt out from the mob and onto the side of the wall where the common couldn't attack him, hanging on with one hand he used the other to try and wipe the gunk off of him. It would come off in time, so he was just going to have to sit and wait. Besides, he was getting hungry.

"Well…looks like we have a dilemma," Sam drawled out, from where he leaned against the vehicle," You see…I'm pretty hungry…and I am _not_ in the mood to eat another common infected…" They'd done it before. Common infected were still edible, they just weren't as appealing as living survivors. Luckily there were a lot of commons running around to eat on.

"oh oh oh…I knows," Billy suddenly spoke up," I saw some survivors-wivors not too far from heres…" He clapped his pudgy hands together and started to waddle away from them. Sam gave Hunt a look.

"You wanna come or are you going to stay up there all night?" Sam asked him. Hunt growled something before leaping down again, taking his chance on tearing up a few common infected if they got any ideas about trying to eat him. Amazingly none of them did. The two friends hurried along after Billy in anticipation of eating a few survivors today.

***&^%$%^&*(*&^%$%^&*(*&^ %^&*(*&^%$%^&*(*&^%$^&*( ^&*(&^%^&(&

"I'm so bored~," Hunt groaned, laid out on the ground. They were in a hospital, having chased some survivors there. Who knew survivors could run fast when motivated by the prospect of escaping. Hunt still didn't understand why one had jumped to their own death out the window. The one _without_ the ledge, unless they hadn't calculated it. He glanced to his side where the remains of a red headed female were scattered. She had tasted pretty good, but he'd of liked if her skin hadn't been _coated_ in boomer bile. He hated eating that stuff, Sam didn't seem to mind. Food was food, unless it was a special survivor. _THEN_ he'd whine or complain. It was Sam's goal that they would find these special survivors and eat them. Hunt was curious about them as well, especially about their supposed immunity. He picked up a foot and threw it at Sam, where he leaned against the wall smoking as usual. His aim was perfect and it knocked the cigarette from his hand. Sam let out a hiss of smoke in disgust.

"What the hell is your problem?" Sam snapped angrily.

"Boredom?" Hunt asked innocently, pulling himself up into a crouched position. Sam's tongue twitched in anger before shooting out and wrapping itself around Hunt's forearm, jerking him forward and causing him to slam into a countertop.

"OW! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?" Hunt screeched angrily. Sam's tongue slid slowly off his forearm, leaving a slimy reside that Hunt wiped off hurriedly. He could still feel the boomer bile on his jacket, and that was bad enough. A soft sob filled the air, cutting through whatever retort Sam was about to make. They both shut up. "Sounds like…a witch…" Hunt said and felt something flutter in his stomach. Nervousness? Either that or the red-head hadn't agreed with him. Wouldn't be the first one.

"Nah shit Sherlock," Sam snapped and Hunt growled," How many other respectable specials you hear making that god-awful racket?" He demanded, and Hunt tilted his head in his curious manner. It was true. Witches cried a lot, and he couldn't figure out why. They weren't usually chatty either. At least not to him. They snuggled up to Tanks or Smokers a lot, but never hunters. A distinctive growl caught his attention, then a shriek as something whizzed through the air to slam into him, he went rolling, acting on defensive as he attacked whatever was on him.

"EASY EASY!" A guttural yet feminine voice shouted in alarm, resisting his nails easily. Hunt paused, considering his target. Oh…it was Emma…a total nuisance. Female hunter. Not that anyone could tell the difference. Only specials could. It was no secret that Emma had a thing for Hunt. He…did not have returned affections. He listened again to the soft sobs. They weren't Wilma's that was for sure. Maybe Kate's. She liked hospitals. Wilma didn't. She liked being out in the open, near woods or rain. Especially the rain. Hunt liked the rain. Hunt liked Wilma…Wilma…had this HUGE crush on Sam, and Sam knew. Sam also knew that Hunt had a thing for Wilma. Hunt wasn't the only one. Ted, their Tank friend, also had a thing for the petite woman. "Gosh…someone's jumpy lately…You okay?" She crawled off of him, giving him a disgruntled snort as she examined him.

"Fine," he replied, with a slight wave of his hand," Scurry along…"

"But…," Emma started, just as Billy waddled in. He seemed excited to see her.

"Emma-wimma," Billy chocked out, trying not to spew.

"Billy-willy," Emma returned, giving him a two fingered salute before turning her attention back to Hunt," Hunt…I just came to warn you…word has it that there's some sorta chopper coming to the top of the hospital to pick up survivors…get to the top if ya want your grabs…" She slunk off, before leaping away. Hunt suddenly got a bad feeling about that and leapt after her.

"Wait up," Hunt said and she stopped, confusion rippling off of her. "Don't…You aren't…You know…going…right?" She tilted her head perplexed. "Just…promise me you won't go up there…Please?"

"And miss a free dinner?" Emma asked with a snort. "Puh-lease Hunt…be serious…"

"…I am," Hunt replied seriously," I've got a bad feeling…we came across those special survivors today…" Emma tensed with excitement.

"HERE? For real?" She demanded, unable to contain the emotions bubbling through her. "SWEET…I AM _NOT_ MISSING _THIS_…just because you've got a stomach cramp," She retorted before leaping away. Hunt sighed, growling quietly to himself.

"So…anyone want to head out to the train station?" Sam suddenly spoke up and Hunt's head whipped around to look at him in shock. "What?" Sam asked, crushing his cigarette and chewing on it. He gave a slight shrug as Hunt continued to stare at him. "I don't _DO_ crowds…" Hunt chuckled.

"Admit it…you're avoiding someone," Hunt teased and Sam turned away. "…wait…you are?" Hunt tilted his head in confusion.

"Don't you know?" Sam asked and shook his head," Never mind Hunt…Anyway…being in a big crowd is bad for an attack. Survivors panic and mistakes are made. I'm not going to get killed because some survivor decided suicide was the best option. You know how their meat tastes…Besides…there'll be _tons_ of commons up there…fighting for the best pieces. I doubt any _special_ survivors are going to risk that." He started to walk away and Billy waddled after him. Hunt turned to glance at the elevator one more time before following Sam out of the hospital and into the night.

***&^%$%^&*(*&^%$%^&*(*&^ %^&*(*&^%$%^&*(*&^%$^&*( ^&*(&^%^&(&

"Hey…you hear that?" Hunt asked, tilting his head slowly to the side. They were in a train station of sorts and Hunt kept thinking he was hearing voices. Gibberish of course. Every now and then he'd hear a real word. Ammo. Shower. Good. Keep. No. Stay. Listen. That sort of thing. He couldn't tell where it was coming from. He rotated his head slowly to the other side, trying to triangulate the sounds.

"Not gonna do you any good," Sam spoke up from where he was leaning against the side of the watch-tower. That's where they'd decided to wait. Billy wasn't too good at stairs and wanted to hang out with a few of the Common below that were ambling around mindlessly. Sam had his arms crossed firmly over his chest, not quite drawn up to his full height as he leaned slouched against the wall behind him. Hunt couldn't see near as well as Sam could, but he could hear a whole lot better. "It's this area…all canyons and woods…it plays hell with the acoustics." Hunt slowly turned to look at his friend, crouched on the wooded flooring. Sam sighed, folding one hand slightly out from him. "You know…how sounds works?"

"Was this another part of that meeting I somehow missed?" Hunt asked, and Sam face palmed.

"You're an idiot…It's amazing you're still alive," Sam muttered darkly, lowering his hand. He uncrossed his arms and held both hands in front of him. He waved his right hand, which he held vertically. "This is a wall." Hunt gave a slight nod. He wiggled the fingers of his left hand, which was being held horizontally. "These…are sound waves…Now, they're like vibrations—No Hunt, I'm not going into specifics so you might as well kill that thought—and our ears pick up these vibrations. Anyways, these vibrations are like…the sound waves bouncing _off_ of things…Did I lose you?" Hunt nodded again, gazing out onto the tracks below. There was a strange bridge thing that served no real purpose, and a little bit off from that was a—WITCH.

"IT'S HER! She's HERE!" Hunt screeched, pointing wildly below. Sure enough, Wilma was sitting atop one of the abandoned flat-beds for the train. Hunt had no idea what they were called or what purpose they'd served. He actually did understand what Sam was trying to explain, he just liked to hear Sam using his brain. He worried that he'd be the only smart one soon enough…and it was funny to hear Sam try to 'dumb' things down for Hunt's 'consideration'. It showed how good a friend Sam really was to him. A hard rap on his head and he whirled around to look at Sam.

"Well? Go on," Sam said, making a gesture. Hunt shuffled around, suddenly feeling shy. "Oh…don't give me that." And suddenly Hunt was falling. Didn't take him too long to realize that Sam had kicked him clean through the railing. He sighed and hit the ground with a sickening THUD. Everything…felt…okay. He sat up slowly and shook himself off. A few common infected ambled towards him, but at his warning growl they backed off. He brushed as much dirt off as he could, mustering up the strength to cross the tracks towards her.

She was beautiful. Crimson eyes that glowed softly in the dark of the night. Gray-white flesh that pulled over a thin frame. Her clothes were in tatters and seemed old. Wilma in particular was fond of lace…and the color white. White clothes got dirty faster, and were hard to find, but Wilma was the only white he'd seen who could still CLAIM to have been white to begin with. He wasn't too sure how she kept her clothes that clean. He unconsciously brushed at some more dirt. Wilma was crying again. Rubbing at her face with the knuckles of her hands. Her fingers were exquisite, delicately formed into long razor-sharp curves that could tear through any flesh they were set into. She was moaning softly, a chilling sound that sent shivers down his spine. He liked to listen to her. It made him feel oddly comforted, as if she were feeling everyone's grief around him.

"H-how are y-you?" Hunt stuttered and the wailing abruptly stopped. Those luminescent eyes flicked to him and he felt pinned in place as they seemed to search him. Obviously flicking to the spots of dirt or bile he'd missed in trying to clean up. He really needed a new jacket. This one wasn't going to hold much longer and he was starting to fill the chill of the world again. Hence why Hunters bundled up more than the other specials. They exerted too much energy with jumping around like they did. He and Sam had cuddled on more than one occasion before but merely as brothers and never as lovers. He held his breath, watching as she blinked slowly—long lashes brushing her cheeks before slowly opening again.

"…Fine," she replied in her soft, almost velvet smooth voice. He could see her tongue moving in her mouth. The way it flicked upwards in irritation like a snake ready to strike. He'd heard witches trading insults with each other, usually over what they wore. Witches were amazingly vain about how they looked, especially about the clothing they had on. Wilma had perfectly straight hair, which fell into her eyes when the wind blew or she made a sudden motion. She pushed some of the hair out of her face with a claw slowly. Those claws which could magnificently carve into survivor flesh…could just as easily gorge out a witches own eyeball. It was also why their clothing were always tattered. Somehow they always seemed to forget about their claws when trying new clothes on. When they rocked back and forth, or made a motion to grab at their heads or claw a victim to death with wild swings—they caught their clothing and tore them to shreds—which is why they tended to wander around in tattered underwear. Hunt imagined they got cold easily. Sam once told him that they exerted a lot of heat though, so the chill of the world never bothered them—much like it never bothered Smokers who lived purely on the warm smokes they inhaled most of the time.

"What uh…brings you here?" Hunt asked, working up the nerve to crawl a little closer. Her eyes flicked to him, and he stopped his motions. Witches were always watching, and they were usually known for snapping at the smallest things. Sam said it was usually considered an achievement to survive dating a witch due to their tempers. They'd killed special infected before during fits of rage. Her eyes remained on him for a tad bit longer before slowly gliding over their surroundings.

"…It's…peaceful," she replied quietly, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms loosely around them—carefully so as not to jab herself in the side with her own claws. "I can…think…" That caught him by surprise.

"Think?" he asked and she sighed, the motion causing some of her hair to flutter.

"…you know…think? To question things?" she said slowly and he blinked.

"Oh. I know what it means to think…I meant…what do you think about?" He rephrased his questions and suddenly she looked flustered.

"Oh. I'm sorry Hunt…I wasn't implying that you were…dumb," she mumbled, looking away from him, before her eyes darted back to him apologetically.

"Meh. I get that," Hunt replied and her eyes fastened on him, that same penetrating gaze.

"Do you ever…wonder…," she started and trailed off, seeming hesitant.

"Yeah?" he questioned, crawling closer to her. When she didn't object he took that as a good sign and slowly pulled himself up to sit beside her. Not too close though, giving her some space. He stared out at the common ambling around them, and almost jumped in surprise when something soft leaned against his arm, warm heat radiating through his too thin jacket off-setting the chill that had settled into him.

Wilma…

was…

leaning…

against…

him…

"Do you ever wonder about life?" she questioned quietly, and he could feel the reverberations from her voice traveling up through his arms. It felt nice. He was overcome by the sudden urge to stroke her hair—but figured she'd rip his arm off if he even tried to make a move on her.

"As in…if we were really survivors?" Hunt questioned and felt her stiffen from surprise. He chuckled slightly. "Yeah…All the time…there's just…so much—"

"Proof," she finished for him, suddenly looking up at him. The moment was too right. Hunt leaned down towards her only to hear a distinctive click as someone cocked the barrel of a shotgun.

"DOWN!" Hunt screeched, shoving her out of the way as someone fired. Pain erupted in Hunt's side as something tore a chunk from it. He screeched, and leapt away. Wilma was gone. Witches were notorious for pulling vanishing acts. Hunt snarled, trying to figure out who'd shot him as he hid under the railing of the bridge.

"Damn…Hunter got away," a deep male voice complained. Hunt almost growled but kept quiet as the tattooed survivor from earlier stepped into view. A nervous laugh caught his attention though. The pink-jacketed one.

"Better luck next time, eh Francis?" the female said, lightly punching the man in the arm. Francis, an odd name, grumbled under his breath. This explained the ghost whispers Hunt had been hearing. "Where do you think Bill and Louis are?" She was peering around nervously. Sometime during his talk with Wilma, the common had slipped away. Lucky for the survivors to catch such a break. "What do you think that Hunter was doing? Just sitting there?"

"Who knows, who cares," Francis grunted loudly, cracking his knuckles. Hunt liked the way that sounded. Crisp, clean, and it echoed nicely. Something he could definitely locate later on if need be.

"ZOEY!" another male voice called out, this one lighter sounding and more clear spoken. It was the black one that Sam had almost nabbed. He had bandages wrapped around his throat, so obviously Sam had affected him. Speaking of Sam, Hunt wondered if he'd stuck around. He spotted a tendril of smoke drifting from the watch-tower, so he knew Sam was watching. He probably needed to sneak back up that way.

"Louis! I knew you were still living," the one called Zoey—Hunt liked how it tickled his throat to say—squealed, lunging at him to hug him. They rocked slightly.

"Hey old man," Francis barked out and got a respective nod from the fourth member of their party. The old man seemed to see everything going on around them at once. A little unnerving. "You guys find any ammo?"

"No," the 'old man' rumbled out in a low, but gentle voice. It seemed full of authority.

"It's okay Bill…we'll last…there should be a safe-house not too far from here," Zoey said, scratching at her head. Bill moved closer to her, making her bend her head forward so he could comb through her hair.

"No fleas or lice. Must just be the dirt, kid," Bill told her, giving her forehead a gentle flick. She swatted at his hand, all in good play. "I've had to rough out worse than this."

"Oh yeah? What's worse than zombies?" Zoey snarked back with a slight laugh. It wasn't a humorous one. "Do you…think there's anyone…left?" She asked and they all grew quiet.

"I honestly can't say," Bill told her, and Louis elbowed her playfully.

"You saying I'm not _good_ enough for you?" Louis demanded, acting like she'd punched him. She laughed, and the weird mood that'd settled around them was broken. Hunt had noticed that. They'd all get depressed when they started to wonder how many more survivors were out there. Survivors must've liked bigger groups…but bigger groups attracted more infected. It was a common rule of thumb…small group equals larger chance of survival. He shifted slightly, growing restless already, and bored. He was upwind of them, so he couldn't smell them very well—which was a good thing, or else it'd of driven him _mad_ to attack them. Something about fresh survivors really got the blood pumping. The group was moving on, and Hunt took the time to circle back to where Sam was.

"I see your trip went well," Sam commented idly and Hunt knew he was keeping an eye on the four below. He took the time to look down at his tattered jacket, he would need a new one. Any jumps were now null and void due to the hanging fabric. Air would pull at it, and he didn't feel like having to compensate for that. He needed a change of wardrobe-and more duct tape.

"Yeah…She's a thinker," Hunt said, taking the conversation back to his get together with Wilma. He could still feel the ghost of her touch against him, taunting him. Sam let out a slight hiss of distaste for that term. "What? She's not like all the other witches…She…talks to me."

"Yeah. But there weren't any other witches around…or Tanks…Give her a Tank…she'd pick it over you _any_ day," Sam snapped almost bitterly.

"What's your problem?" Hunt demanded, whirling on Sam," You've been acting weird lately…What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sam muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. Hunt studied him, tilting his head back so that he could really 'look' at him. Sam wasn't attractive, physically. He was tall and gangly. With a very long tongue that could regenerate quickly, and he always smelled like smoke…but he radiated massive heat…and Hunt was cold. Hunt shifted closer, pressing lightly against Sam as if asking for permission. Sam slid down against the wall to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around him as he lit up another cigeratte to smoke. "You need a new jacket."

"yeah….I know," Hunt replied idly.

**END NOTE: So, this is the first chapter to a fanfiction I've been working on for the Left For Dead franchise. I make no profit from this. The question came to me as I was playing the Left For Dead games-just what are the special infected up to BEFORE they appear on the scenes….You know those moments in the games…when you enter a room…and there's a Hunter just sitting there….or a Smoker is just chilling…. Seriously….Well, hopefully this fanfiction will take you into an inside look of these characters. Plus I'm** **just a really weird and seriously twisted writer.** **Please take the time to review?**


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